They call him The Dungslinger - the eccentric trying to beat burglars with a medieval catapult that fires manure. But if you think that's scary, just look what he does to the wife...

A cold, wet day in Nottinghamshire - the sort when you would much rather be tucked up with a warm mug of tea than out in the elements. But despite the inclement weather, Joe Weston-Webb is in his garden, busy loading his homemade catapult with a giant bag of chicken manure.

Rigged up on the back of a lorry at the edge of his property, in the shadow of the giant cooling towers of Ratcliffe-on-Soar power station, the 30ft dung-slinging machine which Joe is priming with the hefty - and smelly - load looks mean and menacing.

Indeed, this is precisely his intention. For having been the victim of burglaries and arson attacks at his business, 71-year-old Joe set up the medieval-looking machine to deter any would-be intruders from breaking into his flooring company premises.

Ready to fire: Joe Weston-Webb with his catapult

But, after being warned by police that using the contraption against burglars would be illegal, he reluctantly de-primed it, only to suffer a further burglary last Monday night.

Not surprisingly, he is determined that nothing is going to stop him from defending his land and livelihood.

'We're under siege here,' he says, 'so a catapult seems like a suitable solution.'

The catapult is not the only weapon 'Grumpy Joe' (as he likes to be called) has in his arsenal. Sitting nearby is a 20-foot human cannon, which he used during his days as a travelling showman - once, as part of a stunt, unsuccessfully attempting to fire his wife, Mary, across the River Avon.

But instead of using his wife he plans to load the cannon with railway sleepers tipped with rubber which will shoot out of the cannon when activated by a trip-wire.

'Tipping them with rubber is my one concession to the PC brigade,' he says. 'I'm not going to hurt anybody, but I've got to do something because the police don't seem interested.

'This latest break-in happened last Monday night, but the police didn't manage to take fingerprints until Thursday morning.'

He believes the repeated break-ins and vandalism are part of a targeted vendetta against him, and is determined that he won't be caught out again - no matter what the police say.

'What am I meant to do? These people have vandalised my workshop, stolen money and machines. It will cost me £10,000 to replace them.

'On Monday night the burglars managed to deactivate the CCTV cameras, which the police had told me was all the security I needed. I have to do something to keep these yobs off my land.'

Joe's wife Mary stunt riding in the Seventies

The police, however, have taken a dim view of Grumpy Joe's one-man jihad against his persecutors.

'The law allows home-owners to protect themselves and their property with reasonable force if they are under threat from an intruder,' says a spokesperson from Nottinghamshire Police. 'The setting up of a booby trap is outside the scope of the law and is something we would advise against.'

Judging by the amount of support Joe has received, however, the public seems to hold a rather different view.

When he was interviewed on local radio to discuss his plight, the station was inundated with messages of support; many of whom seemed outraged at the way the police seem more interested in tackling him rather than catching those responsible for the break-ins.

'There are still a lot of good people in this country,' says Joe, 'but the way everything works is just a complete joke. Everything in this country is stacked against decent, law-abiding citizens. The bottom line is that you either make a stand - or live in misery.'

No matter what the outcome of this current stand-off, it seems unlikely that Joe will give up defending his rights.

Although he likes to play up to the image of a grumpy misanthrope, the reality is that this old-fashioned British eccentric is a wildly inventive and relentlessly humorous individual whose working career has included jobs as a restaurant owner and stunt co-ordinator.

Not only did he build the catapult and cannon he is currently threatening intruders with, but he also single-handedly invented the unique flooring system he makes at his workshop - which perhaps is one reason he is so keen to defend the business.

Mary as a human cannonball

Comprising parquet panels that lock together without screws or tools, his Florlok system of portable flooring has quickly become the industry standard.

It has been used everywhere from field hospitals in Iraq and the Atlanta Olympics, through to the venues for Posh and Becks's wedding and Elton John parties.

His flooring was also recently chosen for Strictly Come Dancing's touring show. 'It's funny, because I hate dancing and think most TV is rubbish,' he says.

But he insists, however, that 'flooring is boring' and prefers to talk about his life story.

After performing puppet shows in working men's clubs when he was eight, this Harrow-educated son of a yarn merchant eventually threw himself into the world of entertainment and promotion.

Among many achievements (including six grown-up children), he set up stunt schools for ladies, formed the first all-girl car and motorcycle stunt team, the Motobirds, and made his name as a travelling showman through some of the most daft and death-defying stunts ever performed on British soil.

These included the infamous attempt to fire his wife across the River Avon. 'It was back in 1976 and she already had a broken arm from another mishap but she climbed into the cannon anyway.

'We shot her out and she made it to the other side, but unfortunately the net that was meant to catch her was at an angle and she bounced off it back into the river,' he says.

'Oh well, no harm done. That's nothing compared to the accident she had in Japan where she was on a bike, jumping over three cars placed end-to-end.

'She hit the last car, flew off and went skidding across the tarmac in her bikini. She had 56 abrasions from that one. But that's what she's like. She'd lie down in the middle of the road and let you drive over her if you asked nicely.'

Joe is clearly not a man to be messed with - a fact burglars would do well to take note of. Although he looks like a weathered version of David Attenborough, in his performing days he specialised in explosions and once parachuted a gorilla into a showground.

'I once organised a man to wrestle with a crocodile in a large see-through tank at a show,' he says. 'I tied the croc's mouth together so it wouldn't eat the man, but it somehow escaped and began to make its way towards the crowd.

'Everybody was screaming and trying to run away so I had to chase after the thing, grab its tail and wrestle it to the ground. I was more worried about the croc than the people. It had cost me £50 to buy it, and that was a lot of money back then.

'The RSPCA got me and I was fined £10, although the magistrate later posed for a photo with me and the animal.'

Joe admits that he would sooner fight a crocodile than have to deal any longer with the police or modern British bureaucracy.

'I've never felt as frightened for my children's future as I do now with the way the law operates in this country. Everything favours the criminal, and it often seems like there's nothing an ordinary person can do. For me, it's time to take a stand.'

And with that he's out of the door, off to collect more chicken manure for his catapult.

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They call him The Dungslinger - the eccentric trying to beat burglars with a medieval catapult that fires manure. But if you think that's scary, just look what he does to the wife...